Browsing, Not Buying
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: A casual Saturday afternoon searching for furniture. CanonFic. GrissomSara


_Where have I been, many of you may ask. I've been posting mainly on Geekfiction, as ff dot net, has been being very wishy-washy with their status. And alas, I've relied on the reliable. So if you don't know about GF, you should probably click on my homepage._

_Also, muchos propos to the awesome cuttingrmflr AKA Lori the Magnificent for her... just for her being wonderful, okay?_

_ Also, Brandie totally inspired this with talk of yard sales as we drove through Cali with the above-mentioned magnificent, so props to her._

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The sun was requisitely high in the wide expanse of mid-day blue. A Vegas afternoon brought with it dust and a teasing breeze that lured the hoards of tourists onto the Strip and left them weary, burnt, and dehydrated. Only those who lived in the Sun and Sin knew how to deal with such weather. Sunblock, water, hat: check, check, check.

Sara Sidle was in possession of all the staples as she crossed the avenue. Grissom's sweaty hand (it was always slightly sweaty, but she didn't mind) clutched in hers and condensation from her melting bottle of ice water made her quite content in ways that made her veins sing, made her chest hurt just a little with the sweetness of the simple moment. That easy, leisurely feeling was evident in her long, relaxed stride; in the gentle way in which she passed her thumb over the back of Grissom's hand; in her languid, deep sighs.

On a whim, she brought the cool bottle up to roll over the side of her neck, wayward water droplets demonstrating Locard's principle to the naked eye. Her companion snuck a glance at her and his jaw shifted as he took in her darkened shoulders, the freckles peeking out a bit more prominently. Sara had a genuine, delightful glow about her that enthralled him in a deep and quiet manner, one that he couldn't help but attempt to decipher.

"It's a nice day," she mentioned casually. "And it's supposed to cool off tonight." With the slightest of pressure, he squeezed his palm against hers. On nights like the one anticipated, Vegas residents would poke out of their air conditioned dens and seek activities far from the casinos and call girls. Grissom and Sara would take an evening like that-cool, crisp-and sit on her balcony or on his modest deck and drink wine, talking and not, until they were tipsy enough to attempt to dance.

But the afternoon, _this_ afternoon was dedicated to diamonds in the rough. Yard saling.

When she had been in college, Sara had made it her business to hit as many yard sales as possible and had acquired quite a talent at finding hidden bargains. She had furnished her first, cramped Dorchester apartment by waitressing around Harvard. Sara still remembered the worn, burnt umber armchairs she had acquired while schlepping around Brookline and could recall the antique end table a kind elderly lady had sold to her for ten dollars, simply because she had loved it so much.

Grissom glanced up at her from the rim of his cap, squinting against the harshness of the sun; it wasn't his usual straw monstrosity, that had begun to fray and fall to pieces. Instead, as the doting girlfriend she had bought him a North Face baseball hat, one with aerated sides to combat the heat when he was at a scene. Catherine had even commented on the accessory, noting that it had been not only in good taste to buy one, but more aesthetically pleasing as well. He pulled the hat down a bit harder over his face; the brim was beginning to color with sweat as most of his hats did, except this one wouldn't fade with the moisture.

There was a slight swing to their hands as they moved down the sidewalk towards the cul-de-sac. The couple had discovered the quaint little neighborhood on one of their evening walks (and she was even getting him to try jogging on for size) and had seen the small placards that the neighbors had posted referring to the neighborhood-wide garage sale. When Sara had become excited, he inquired as to why and she told him the story of her college days and of penny pinching and of finding the perfect item that you didn't even know you were looking for.

The street before them was sparsely populated with people but occupied densely by various knick-knacks, house ware items, and intriguing furniture. Some of the items looked to be antique and in good condition, others holding a modern sort of style to their odd curves and grooves; there were other pieces that were strewn about that were simply odd, such as the neon green mohair armchair that-for some reason-had five legs. Two younger women with similarly neon sneakers were talking quietly and gesturing at the piece of furniture. "What in God's name is that?" Grissom asked as they meandered their way to the far end of the enclosed street.

Sara turned her head and glanced at what she could only assume he regarded as a monstrosity. "That, my dear, is a character piece."

Clearing his throat, he squeezed her hand, gaining her attention as her gaze met his. "A character piece?"

An affirmative sound was hummed low in her throat. "A piece of furniture that gives a room character."

He blinked once, twice, and then regarded the chair once more. "That… is ridiculous, and must be very hard to clean."

Sara shrugged and looked at the green seat as well, "Well… I'm sure some of the more expensive and odd priceless antiques were regarded as hideous in their time."

Grissom shot her a disbelieving look and waited for her to amend her statement. "Okay, perhaps not anything quite as… loud… but still, who knows what that will be worth one day."

Sara tugged on his hand, spurring him forward as he was still looking at the chair, "That's assume that those young ladies' tastes don't evolve."

Scoffing, she tugged again, succeeding in gaining his attention as she led them towards a large, faux-leather sofa. It was toffee colored and large, large enough for him to spread out and nap on. A corner of his mouth perked at that notion and Grissom-for the moment-allowed himself to be lead.

Once they reached the intended target, his companion turned, grinning up at him. "Now this is nice, isn't it? And since you don't like my couch and yours is just… not going to work…" She allowed her voice to trail off, bending over to press against the cushion as though with expertise.

"What are you, a sofa expert?" he asked her, voice dripping with sweet sarcasm and she turned, directing an amused glare at him. "Just sit down," Grissom directed with an air of mockery.

After rolling her eyes and frowning, Sara took care to place herself upon the couch, leaning into the back slowly, testing his patience. Grissom tapped his foot, spurring her to laugh, just a little.

Languidly, Sara rolled her head against the back, bringing once arm up to brace the arm, while the other slid along the back. In that moment, she reminded him of the first move she had made on him. They'd gone to see a movie-some movie he couldn't remember, he hadn't really been paying attention-and she had leaned in, smelling sweet, and asked him if they were going steady.

Grissom had laughed, shocked by her playful manner, and replied, "I suppose it could be classified as steady, yes."

Sara's eyes giggled but she had simply smiled her little half smile and replied, "Well, since I don't have my class ring to give you," and she'd mocked the go-to move of every teenage boy, stretching her arm out around the back of his seat, serving up a counterfeit yawn as the cherry on top.

Back in front of him, the Sara of the present was stroking the material of the arm with two fingers, smiling in a manner that could only be described as salacious. "Oh, this _is_ nice, soft cushions, even softer material, nice give," and with that she bounced her bottom a little for effect.

That particular movement had Grissom's gaze drifting from her eyes to the soft swell of her breasts below her tighter-than-normal tee-shirt; they shifted a bit with the force of her bounce and caused Grissom to involuntary gulp against the flush rising on his skin. Sometimes, during trying moments such at this, he would find wonder in the way simple, everyday things about her could increase his heart rate, force his body temperature just slightly higher.

He could just make out the line of her bra beneath the cotton and watched on as her chest rose and fell as she breathed; Grissom didn't bother hiding that fact anymore, hiding the fact that he liked to watch her, enjoyed staring at her even if she knew he was. Sara had gotten used to the fact, had stopped blushing so furiously, had stopped trying to divert his attention because when he gave her his attention, she had it until he'd looked and tasted and had his fill.

Sara ran her fingers over the faux leather sofa slowly, in a manner that could only be described as seductive. "It's a great color," she continued, breaking into his smutty thoughts. It was a nice couch, he had to admit, but it was even nicer with her perched on it.

And that's when it hit him, a two by four to his cerebellum. He wanted to ravish her… on that sofa. Had anyone else engaged in similar activities right where she sat? "We're not buying that," Grissom said immediately, with no preemptive statement.

"What?"

Again, he emphatically stated, "We're not buying that," and motioned for her to rise. Sara did nothing, simply gaped at him, successfully asking him-without words, "What the fuck?"

Worrying his lip between his teeth briefly, he finally stepped forward and pulled her up, her body tumbling unceremoniously into his. "Gil, what the hell?"

Leading her away from the perfect piece of furniture with a firm hand at the base of spine, he explained in a conspiratorial tone, "The things I want to do to you, right now, right there, on that couch… I can only imagine what others have done on it."

He waited for it to dawn on her, and when it did, she laughed. "I suppose out of respect for potential buyers… we shouldn't sell your sofa then?"

A slight blush crested over his cheeks and he shook his head. "No, I suppose not."


End file.
